The Red Accordion Diaries

Y'all, I was at a callback for a BROADWAY SHOW! My secret dream has always been to be in musical theatre, but two things:

I was pressured into the orchestra pit my junior year of high school, not because I wasn't talented enough to land a role, but because they supposedly couldn't afford to do the show if they didn't have a free keyboard player to be the orchestra. That was a huge blow to my confidence as an actress, even though I'd had multiple leading roles prior to that. (It did mean I got to play 364 pages of Stephen Sondheim piano parts, however, so that was fun!)
At NYU the musical theatre people were NUTS. Also, I had no fewer than 10 roommates/suitemates who were theatre majors, and I saw the drama firsthand. Oh, wow, was there drama! (Lyzz, remember that time when B****** made up a date, and we saw her at the movies by herself, and then she came home and told us all about how he bought her popcorn and put his arm around her...)

I've done a lot of work with theatre regionally, but it's been mostly musical -- as in behind-the-scenes, like musical directing the Apprentice Show at Actor's Theatre one year or acting as accordion coach for ATL during the Humana Festival. Or helping them with sound effects, recording accordion or musical saw parts. I took an actual role onstage in Cowgirls about 10 years ago, doing a role that seemed to be written for me: a classical pianist, turned honky-tonker/ accordionist, guitarist, yodeler. It was so much fun, but it was also the same time my first record was blowing up and I took a different performance route.

Anyway, it wasn't completely ridiculous for me to send in a video audition when Adam Brodsky texted me a link that ONCE the Musical was looking for an accordionista. I love that show and love that there is no orchestra pit. The actors play multiple instruments onstage and are like a roving band. It's the perfect combination of all my loves. I threw together a clip and a resume and sent it along. No one looked at it, but it felt good to have accomplished something interesting, new and work-related. I moved on.

A few days later, just before I went to bed, I get an email via my website from a casting agent in New York who is looking for female accordionist singer/actors asking would I be interested in submitting a video audition for ONCE the Musical? And, oh, by the way, it needs to be in tomorrow morning. Apparently no one had seen the other video (still 0 views on Youtube; it's a private link; you can't find it), but I got a babysitter the next morning and read the monologue and played the accordion part and sang 16 bars of a song and played the piano parts. Honestly, I thought the music was easy and was amazed they couldn't find anyone in NYC to do the role.

A few hours after I sent in the video, the casting agency asked me to come to NYC for a callback!

I wasn't 100% sure about going, but David said, "OF COURSE YOU WILL GO."

The thing is, it was for the National Tour of ONCE the Musical, which opens in, like, 3 weeks in Tulsa, and rehearsals start this week, and I have four million gigs this fall and I am surely the only actor they are considering who has kids, and definitely the only one with a baby young enough that he subsists entirely on breastmilk.

But in acting, you can't tell them things like, "Oh, I have kids." Because no producer wants to deal with the ramifications that an actor-with-kids means. Calling in sick because your kid is sick is a little different when it's a sold-out show.

But I went!

And man, did I feel like superwoman.

They asked me at the last minute if I happened to play the cello, which I did play in middle school and again for a Days of the New tour. I can read the music and play the notes, but I hadn't touched one in years. A cello is fretless, so it's not something I can just pick up and be perfectly in tune the whole time. The music didn't look complicated, however. I was completely honest and said I used to play, hadn't in years, but would be happy to give it a try.

You know the rest, about how I flew up BY MYSELF, enjoyed a night in a hotel BY MYSELF, ate several meals BY MYSELF and generally had a merry old time.

What I left out was the audition!

It was so crazy -- like the movies. Actors lined the hallway in a studio full of various productions rehearsing. NYU students had movement class in one room. MAMMA MIA! was rehearsing in another. Phantom of the Opera had reserved the room we were using right after us.

Everyone had fancy headshots and some people were clearly trying to psych out others with their vast knowledge and serious experience. I also felt so old and so carefree because they all cared so much about everything. I was just there to have fun.

Several people went in and came out a few minutes later echoed by a thankyouforyourtimeNEXT! kind of vibe. I was pretty much expecting that to happen for me, the last audition of the morning.

But, friends, they asked me to stay! Even after I played a crazy attempt at the cello, apparently my piano skills and accordion skills were worthy (duh- I'm awesome at those!), and my acting wasn't terrible, even with the Czech accent I was asked to attempt, because they asked if I'd stay for the movement audition. (Also, they were super nice and really easy to talk to, and I kind of wanted to go grab a beer with them after the long week I'd had. But business, you know...)

This part was funny because, though I actually love dancing and am also not terrible at it, I am five months postpartum. I have a lot of pelvic pain from PGP and misaligned hips and so much lower back pain and an incredibly weak core from a touch of diastisis recti (abdominal split). My healing has been so slow, and I can still barely turn over in bed at night. And pretty much the entire routine was core and lower body -- no arms, but not in a Riverdance kind of way, more of a you'llhaveaninstrumentinyourarmswhenyoudothisforreal kind of way. The first move was a deep lunge that caused lower back spasms, and I can't believe I made it through the routine without grimacing or falling over.

Facetiming with the Wee-est boy.

At one point I sort of just laughed to myself and said, "Oh well, it's been fun. I'll just do the best I can." I probably should have attempted some facial expressions, but I was focused on not crying out in pain because, you know, I couldn't mention the whole five months postpartum thing without basically eliminating myself from the competition.

Anyway, in the end, there were five of us left -- two men, one woman up for an entirely different role, and one woman up for the same role as I was. So basically: 50/50 shot at a ROLE IN A BROADWAY SHOW!

How crazy is that, y'all?!

They had to send the videos of auditions to the director to make a choice. People, the director is JOHN TIFFANY, currently in London directing THE CURSED CHILD!

Also ... it's a six month tour, and I would have to bring the kids. They are young and portable, so it's not impossible. And David's company would fly him to a different city to meet us every week because he travels for work weekly anyway. But I'd have to hire a travel nanny. I'd have to buy a car. I'd have to put off finishing my new record and touring my new record. But then, in theory, it would be easier to book tours as a Broadway star than as a singer-songwriter. But oh, how exhausting! And Graham's birthday is this week, and I would miss it ... and I missed his birthday last year because of a work thing in Nashville. And the guilt the guilt!

Anyway, I spent the last several days in limbo wondering what life would present. I would have to say yes if they offered it to me because it would be amazingly fun and what an opportunity! And I would be great in that role -- it was written for someone like me.

They said they'd make offers on Monday, and I hadn't heard anything by Tuesday morning. I sent a quick note asking about travel reimbursement when they replied that the role hadn't been cast yet. Yikes! Back to limbo ...

Ultimately I found out last night that the other woman got the role. She was really nice and I had been angry at myself for rushing out to catch the elevator and my flight before I was able to get her contact info. She had more theater experience, was younger and didn't have kids, and I'm pretty sure was a better dancer (I was too busy trying to remember the steps on not enough sleep and didn't look at the others dancing. I also failed to list a bunch of my own theater experience on my resume because it was so long ago!) (Producers, if you're reading this because something happened and you're considering casting me, IGNORE all my wondering-if-I-can-pull-it-off: I totally can. Because remember, moms can do it ALL. Your mother would agree.)

But can I explain to you the sigh of relief that I didn't have to make a difficult choice?

Moral of the story: I made it to the final two choices of a real actual BROADWAY SHOW when I was five months postpartum and in the worst shape of my life, both physically and mentally. So take that, haters (myself, included!). I am basically superwoman.

Now - let's book that Europe tour full of house concerts and festivals and folk clubs next year. Who's in??

One time I sang live on A Prairie Home Companion in front of thousands of people I could see and millions of radio-listeners I couldn't. I wasn't nervous a smidge. Give me a stage and a microphone, and it's a cocoon of safety and support. Last week I went to a book club with seventeen smart women, and I had to tell everyone my name and I about peed my pants with anxiety and fear.

Interesting fact not listed: I have more freckles than anyone.

It's typical social anxiety, and I can't really explain it. I don't know the number of audience at which I become comfortable again. But if I don't have the frame of a stage, then simply introducing myself is apparently terrifying these days.

Blame it on mental instability post-baby? I don't know, but all I had to do was say my name, my occupation and "one interesting fact" about myself. I was a mess. My friend had to whisper, "You play the musical saw," in my ear when it was obvious I couldn't think of anything to tell the group. After, of course, I thought of lots of interesting facts. I've had all kinds of interesting things happen to me.

And so, from the safety of my blog, I bring you: ten interesting facts about Brigid. At least I think they are interesting. Some of them sound really braggy. Or at least name-droppy. But I think they are still interesting?

I learned how to play the musical saw from my college roommate whose brother Guy Forsyth is a famous Texas musician who also plays the saw really, really well.
When I was 5 years old I was in a national television commercial for a GE microwave. (It's not on YouTube ... yet.)
I can do a back flip off the 3-meter high dive.
I started my first career as Andy Cohen's intern in 1998 at CBS, and my first task was to update his Rolodex. I had everyone's phone number.
I haven't owned a car in five years.
I can write in cursive backwards quickly and easily and have been able to do since I read a biography of Leonardo da Vinci when I was nine and learned about his 'mirror writing.'
I'm ambidextrous.
I've played saw and accordion and sung backing vocals for Elvis Costello three times and in two countries.
I've had breakfast with Walter Cronkite.
I had perfect attendance from Kindergarten all the way through 12th grade.

Our 3.5 year old was born in a Birthing Centre in Edinburgh, Scotland, where the majority of births are attended by midwives. This is not the norm in America, but I had no idea how how subversive it would be to have the birth we desired. My first draft of this story was defensive and included far too much detail of research, evidence, and how we came to this choice (believe me, we LOVE science). For now, though, it seems much more pleasant to tell you only what you came to read: the BIRTH story.

The only photo of me pregnant with #2.

I was around 38 weeks when I started to lose my mucus plug (Have I lost you already? Warning: This story will contain truth! But I will leave out graphic photos.). This was unexpected, seeing as Graham, our 3.5 year old, had been almost two weeks overdue. We figured Baby #2 would surely not arrive before due date.

David was still working in Indianapolis, and on this particular Thursday morning, I’d been leaking some mucus (not amniotic fluid) for a few days, but on Thursday it was pink. I’d had some mild cramps all week, — not Braxton-Hicks — but no contractions. I called Aundria, our primary midwife, who said that the mucus, combined with the many cramps, suggested that I was in early labor. It “could be today, could be next week,” but it was hard to say. I called David and asked him to come home if he didn’t need to be at the client’s office.

For weeks I had been unable to walk because of hip pain. I had been using a cane, battling sciatica and pelvic girdle pain. Requesting David to come home was as much about having someone to get me a glass of water as it was about him being there for a potential birth. But despite all my joint pain, baby was completely fine, just digging into my right hip.

My cramps were not particularly painful, but they were definitely different from Braxton-Hicks. Considering the contractions I’d had from Graham’s birth were 9-out-of-10 on the pain scale from the very first one, I didn’t think these could be the real thing. But they were fairly regular — about 20 minutes apart.

David was home by noon.

We did not have a baby that day.

In fact, by Monday morning, despite the cramps coming, picking up and then stopping again, things weren’t much different than before. David went back to Indianapolis, and I went to my 39-week checkup as scheduled. Baby was perfect, and I declined an offer of a cervical check because our midwife thought any stimulation would likely put me into active labor. With David out of town again, I didn’t want to risk it. Even though I was still in pain from PGP, I wanted baby to cook as long as needed.

That evening I was starting to have more regular cramps again, this time about 10 minutes apart. I suspected I would go into full-blown labor that evening.

At that point I realized our fridge was empty. Thankfully, our wonderful friend Carrie offered to go to the grocery for me to get the protein snacks and electrolyte drinks I’d needed for labor and brought takeout dinner for me and Graham.

She also commiserated with me when I sobbed. My doula, Lorie, had just called to tell me her other March client was in labor and she was heading to the hospital for the night. Doulas always have backups, of course, but I hadn’t met Lorie’s backup yet. The main reason I had hired a doula was so someone familiar (but not related to me) could be with me in early labor if David was out of town. It seemed that my big fear was exactly what was happening, so I had more than a few tears.

As soon as Lorie told me she was with another client, my contractions slowed down -- perhaps evidence to support that labor slows when adrenaline rushes. David had packed up and headed home from Indianapolis, arriving by midnight. I’d already sent Graham to stay with my parents for the night, so the house was fairly quiet.

The night was uneventful. I still had mild cramps, but was able to sleep through them for the most part. In the morning, I texted my mom that there was no baby, but could she please bring Graham by for a hug on the way to preschool. I was overly aware that this might be the last chance I had to snuggle him as an only child. We took a selfie to commemorate the occasion.

I continued to cramp all morning and was texting with Aundria about what to do. Because of my hip pain, I was unable to go for a long walk — generally the first recommendation to get labor moving along. I decided to put on my TENS machine, thinking that might help with the hip pain and allow me to move around. It relieved some of the pain, but I still couldn’t bear any weight on my right leg. Aundria suggested the Miles Circuit as an alternative to walking, so I did that a few times. Cramps would increase, but then decrease just as quickly.

Lorie called around 7am to let me know she was finished with her other client and on call for me again - relief!

David worked from home, taking conference call after conference call. He did manage to run up to Breadworks to buy a loaf of country white bread, so that I could have proper “tea and toast” after the birth. This was one of the charming things we remembered about our birth in Scotland, as well as one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever eaten in my life. Toast slathered with thick Irish butter alongside a cup of tea after having practically run a marathon: perfection.

Eventually Aundria said she would come over to check on me and see if we could maybe get things going. She arrived about 2:30 and asked if she could do a cervical check, noting again that it would probably put me into full-blown labor. This time I consented because the stop-start-unknown had been very frustrating. (Can I just pause for a second and note how wonderful it was that Aundria asked permission every single time she needed to touch me? Whether it was to listen to the baby or check my cervix, she always made sure I said, “Yes.”) When she checked me, I was a little more than 3cm dilated. She did a membrane sweep and stretched a bit while I breathed deeply and tried to relax. It only took about a minute, and she then declared that I was 5cm.

“Thank you!”

“Oh no, honey, you did that,” she reassured me.

She went on about her day, saying we should call her when contractions were 5 minutes apart, lasting a minute each — the same standard contraction-timing where women are instructed to go to the hospital.

David and I sat around and decided to watch an episode of Mad Men. (We’re a bit behind in pop culture, so this was somewhere in Season One.) My cramps got regular again not long after Aundria left. I ate a protein bar and drank some water, while bouncing on a yoga ball and enjoying the hip-pain relief that TENS machine provided. It also proved useful for contractions, if I hit the ‘increase’ button just as I felt one coming on.

About 30 minutes into Mad Men, I felt the cramps getting a bit stronger and more wave-like. My mind shifted into birth mode, and I announced, “I am done with Mad Men.” It was maybe 4:30.

I moved to the twin bed we’d set up in the dining room and tried to relax, hugging as many pillows as possible and putting my face between them with closed eyes and eye-shades, attempting to shut out the daylight. It suddenly felt like I might be in labor, even though the contractions still weren’t close to the pain I’d felt in early labor with Graham.

David had been timing them, and by 5pm he noticed I’d had 12 contractions in 60 minutes. He called Lorie and Aundria, who both said they would pack up and head over.

“Ask if you can fill up the pool, please!”

Andrea gave the green light for that, but made sure to remind David not to allow me in the water until she was there. I was desperate for the water — water is my happy place — but Aundria didn’t want me to accidentally give birth in the water without her.

Lorie arrived just a few minutes before Aundria, shortly after 6pm. My eyes were shut as I tried to relax on the bed. David had been fussing around in the kitchen in between my yelling for him to, "TOUCH ME, PLEASE," every time I felt a surge coming on. I think he was making crockpot chili for the birth team. He was so great about coming to my side when I needed him though. During my first birth I was an island; this time I was determined to ask for help if I wanted it.

“Lorie’s here,” David announced. I’d been wearing an eyemask because it was so bright in the house — one of those Kentucky days in March that was 82 degrees and sunny.

“Hey, Lorie. Here’s my butt,” I remember telling her. I had been wearing just a sports bra since Aundria had visited, and somehow I figured I should break the ice about my nudity. She laughed and started taking photos on my phone, which I didn’t notice until much later in the evening, after the birth (so grateful for those photos now!).

Aundria arrived like a ninja around 6:10. David must have immediately asked her if I could get in the tub because I remember him touching me gently and saying I could get in.

“Take off my TENS electrodes please. Are you trying to kill me?” I teased him.

I had one last contraction while holding on to the side of the Rubbermaid trough and then swung my legs over the pool, completely submerging and losing myself in the amazing hot water.

Water is my happy place. With Graham I’d spent about 8 hours in the birthing pool — three of those hours were pushing, though I ended up birthing him on land because I’d needed to try new positions. It was like flipping a switch, and I felt myself relax so much more than I’d been able to on the bed the minute before.

Water is also one of the biggest reasons I chose to have a home birth. I'd loved the pool in Scotland, but hospitals in my part of the US do not allow you to actually deliver in a tub. Before I go off on a tangent, let me instead tell you how fun it was shopping for a stock tank at Tractor Supply while 8 months pregnant. Here I am about 4 weeks before the new babe was born, in the 150 gallon tank we purchased at a farm store--->

Anyway, into the water I went ...

I relaxed so much underwater that it wasn’t thirty seconds before I had my first contraction in the pool, and with it, I felt my water break.

I came to the surface and said, “Physics question. If my water breaks while I’m in the tub, does the surface water rise? What would Archimedes say?”

They all laughed.

“Yes,” said someone. (I have no idea whom.)

I went underwater again to blow bubbles smoothly and relax more during another contraction, and then popped up.

“But I was already in the pool. So wouldn’t the water stay the same? It went from inside me to outside me, but the volume already in the pool didn’t change.”

“Hmmm. I guess so?” David confirmed, and everyone had a good chuckle.

At that point, the contractions began to get stronger, and I was suddenly completely uninterested in any more chatter.

The hot water was amazing, and the trough was big enough to allow me to completely submerge and float. I found that floating on my left side with my knees slightly bent was the most comfortable position, as I could be weightless and fully relax. Oddly, this was exactly the same position I found most helpful during Graham’s birth, so I was especially grateful to have the pool available to me. I left a hand on the edge because I liked being able to squeeze David when I needed.

Because I fully submerged, I couldn’t hear anyone speak — ideal for birthing, as I was able to focus completely on opening and ignore anything else.

I floated through several more contractions, none of them as painful as the very first ones I had with Graham. About thirty minutes later, I felt them get more acute and pointed in the front of my stomach. I’d had such awful back labor with Graham that this was a new feeling. It wasn’t awful, but it was enough that I said, “Owwwwwwwwwww” through it and them, “Okay, that one really really hurt.”

My head thought about how long my first labor had been, knowing that I’d only been in active labor for about 2 hours so far this time, and it had only been 30 minutes or so since my water had broken (I didn't actually know any of those times, but I did know that the sun was still up and it had only been a few contractions). I didn’t think I would be able to 6-10 more hours of contractions with that sharp pain.

At this point, I didn’t realize it (though I did notice I was holding Lorie’s hand and not David’s), but David had gone to make a sandwich, and then run upstairs to look for a special baby blanket that we'd received from the NHS after Graham's birth.

“I don’t think I can do this much longer,” I said. “Can you check how far?” I asked Aundria. My thought had gone to if I’m only at 6cm, then this will be impossible.

She checked me and said, “Oh, honey, you’re, like, nine and a half.”

I don’t know if I actually smiled, but I felt my body relax even more, knowing that I had done the hard part. I had one more contraction, during which I grunted, “Oooooooooooo-pen,” and remember hearing Lorie cheer me on with a “Yeah!”

In the same exhale as that contraction, I felt a switch flip inside. The pain completely stopped, and my body started to push on its own.

David came back downstairs. While I was underwater, Lorie and Aundria updated him on my progress — totally surprising him as well, since he'd thought we had a few hours left.

The baby crowned during that first contraction-which-turned-into-a-push. On the next contraction, his head was completely out. Aundria started a stopwatch (I guess water births have a time limit?) and asked me to turn over to my knees. David held my arms, and my body pushed one last time — a little extra effort from me as Aundria had asked me to push hard because he had a nuchal hand (hand/arm up by his face — Graham had the same thing when he was born).

I felt the midwife’s gloved fingers guiding the shoulders out, and I dramatically screamed, “He’s tearing me in half!” Honestly, I think I only shouted like that because I felt the moment needed a little more drama. It wasn’t actually that bad, but I did feel a pain where her fingers had been; the previous pushes hadn’t hurt at all.

"No, you're not," Aundria replied firmly. And then, as that contraction wound down she said, “I’m going to pass him up to you.” Like a choreographed routine, I leaned back and watched the baby swim up as she had guided him forward.

It had been three minutes and three pushes, and it was only 6:58pm — about two and a half hours of active labor.

I looked down and announced, “It’s a boy!” Graham had insisted on the sex being a surprise, even though we suspected it was a boy. (Lack of morning sickness and same pregnancy cravings I’d had with him.)

Aundria covered the baby with a warm towel while I cradled him close to my chest, enjoying the sunlight from the unexpectedly warm day. She checked all his vitals, listening to his heart and watching his breathing. She held him to do the APGAR and rubbed his back and then gave our perfect baby back to me to snuggle.

Everyone cheered me on and talked about how quickly he’d come and how hard and fast labor had been. I was amazed that I’d only really had a very few painful contractions there at the end and couldn’t believe how different the delivery had been from Graham’s.

David had called my family right after the new boy was born, but asked that everyone stay away for a couple of hours. At 8:30 my mom brought Graham over to meet his baby brother. We were already snuggled up in our newly-purchased king-size bed, when Lorie walked Graham up the stairs.

Grandma stayed downstairs, and I can’t remember why. I think it was because there were already two midwives, a doula, and David in our bedroom. Also, my mom and I have a tendency to, um, argue a bit, and I definitely didn’t need any more adrenaline. She’d been kind enough to keep Graham for two nights, and I’m still not sure how she contained herself not seeing the brand new baby. (She came over the next morning to meet him.)

I’ll go into the rest of the evening in more detail in another blog, for those curious about home birth and specific care practices. For now, just know that I was tended to by a Certified Nurse Midwife (who is also a Nurse Practitioner), a Certified Professional Midwife (and former EMT), a doula, and my husband. Most of the birth team stayed for five hours after birth, checking my and my baby’s vitals regularly and making sure we were well and comfortable.

Baby snuggled up and nursed quickly, not really crying at all. Lorie pumped me with electrolyte drinks, and David remembered the magic loaf of country white bread and toasted it, while Lorie slathered it with a pile of Kerry Gold Irish butter, so I could have my postpartum tea-and-toast. Perfection. I felt like Superwoman.

We ate a late dinner of that crockpot chili that David had started when my water broke. I snacked on all kinds of protein bars (and more than a few Samoas) piled up next to our bed and tried my best to sleep. Adrenaline kept me up most of the night, but the rest of the family slept peacefully. It was so nice to wake up in my own bed and have our midwife come to the home to check on us for weeks after. I didn't think that level of postpartum care was available in America. I am so happy to have found it.

The midwives who tended to me are looking to open a Birthing Centre in Kentucky to bring this level of choice and care to women here. (Because reproductive CHOICE is a fundamental right for women!) Here's their fundraising page.

Stats:
6:58pm
8 lbs 13.5 oz
21" long

It's another wee boy!

This may be a complete shock to you, but I had a baby last week. Yes, I didn't even announce the pregnancy until, um, twelve days before he was born. Sorry about that. I've got some work/life/social-media balance issues still to sort out.

He's here, and he's wonderful. His big brother (the less wee of the two Wee Boys) keeps petting him and saying, "Oh, I just love him so much." We still call the baby 'Pretzel' because that's what Graham wanted to name him in utero. And though we did not flee to Scotland to birth the baby (believe me, we looked into travel medical visas, so I could birth the way I wanted), we did give him a most Scottish name: Angus!

I'll write out the birth story eventually for y'all who like that sort of thing. I have all kinds of commentary on the American maternity care system, having had one baby in America and one baby in Europe.

For now, let me just say that one huge bonus of having a baby in my hometown has been the amazing showering of love and meals from friends and family. While I loved having Graham in Scotland because it allowed us to be insulated and honeymoon with the baby without a constant stream of visitors, I am equally loving being in Louisville this time, where we have been loved daily with visitors and deliveries. I guess I don't actually know what I want, but it's been pretty great. As my husband said: full hearts, full fridge. Thanks for the love, friends. It's been a grand week!

Also, if I haven't responded to your texts or voicemails, sorry. I have 34 unread voicemails and at least as many texts. Trying to babymoon prooperly:)

***

In music news: baby coming early is perfect timing for the Jason Wilber (John Prine's guitarist, who just played two nights at the Ryman in Nashville last week) house concert I'm co-hosting on Friday.

Graham went to his first concert (the Leith Folk Club in Edinburgh!) at 10 days old, so wee Angus will be following the family tradition. If you'd like to attend, shoot me an email or a Facebook message and I'll get you the information. Space is limited because it's an intimate venue, so RSVPs are required. There are still a few spots left. I will see you there!

In music news: baby coming early is perfect timing for the Jason Wilber (John Prine's guitarist, who just played two nights at the Ryman in Nashville last week) house concert I'm co-hosting on Friday.

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Brigid Kaelin